I do my best to fight the looming hatred for myself. Sometimes I even manage to convince myself that I am interesting or deserving of happiness. Those moments only serve to enhance the next time that I want to stab myself in the neck and feel the warmth of the crimson liquid spewing from my jugular.
It seems that every time I try to push back the thoughts of anguish and disdain for my life, I only remember the good feelings that I so often yearn for. This is not about suicide, this is about life. About the honest feelings that come over me during this existence that none of us understand. About the constant struggle to find contentment.
So often, we think that life is supposed to be this unending adventure filled with meaningful moments and conversations with people who love you and you in return. I have an idea in my mind about what I want my life to feel like, smell like, look like… I can’t shake this euphoric dream that I chase minute by minute. Sometimes I feel I am on a path toward achieving this and at other times, not only does it feel impossible, but I don’t even care because I feel unworthy of living at all.
I get a feeling of apathy about existence at least once a day.
The truth that I hate to admit, is that I enjoy being sad. It allows me to not care about doing bad things that I normally feel guilty about such as consuming substances or smoking. But, in sadness I have apathy.
Thank you apathy.